Hetapocalypse
by Lorulynn
Summary: Apocalypse AU- warnings: Pairings FrUk, PruCan, possibly others. Violence, gore, Snapped!Characters, loss of sanity, a small alchohol scene eventually, character death, possibly sexual interaction. A more or less normal world meeting goes awry when what appear to be sick people are found wandering the streets... Only none of them are sick at all- but dead.
1. Chapter 1

_**~Day 1~**_

Part 1  
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France casually walked towards his car in the parking lot of the temporary meeting place for the world conference. The summit was undergoing renovations, so arrangements to hold a meeting at a hotel in America were made. Most of the nations had spent the night due to jet lag or just the sheer stress of the meeting alone. The meeting, however, resumed as always- loud shouts of America's dumb ideas would be one of the many loudest things as France and England ensued in their usual fist fight, China would attempt to assuaged any tension possible with snacks, Russia would terrorize smaller countries, Germany would wrangle the meeting back to attention with yelling, then the entire operation would presume to fall apart. Again. The whole thing would have seemed stressful, but it was a routine by now. (To Germany's despair.)  
He rolled his suitcase to the back of the car and placed it in the trunk, shutting it and then dusting off his hands and his front. He was wearing his usual purple getup- it was only expected that he would want to wear his favorite outfit for his regular fight with Arthur, of course! As he made his way to the front of the car, he was stopped abruptly by a rough hand on his shoulder. Slightly startled, he spun around- only to realize it was Prussia and Spain, with an arm around eachother grinning.

"Hey, Francy- Pants! We found this awesome pub down the road, and I told Toni we ought to invite you for a drink, ja? So? Wanna come?" Prussia asked, nudging France in the ribs. France sighed casually as if to consider it, stroking his tiny beard for a moment.

"Well... I do suppose I could join you... Is there by chance any wine at this place~? I wont have any of that foul alcohol you drink..." He mused, grinning and looping his arm around Prussia in turn.

"Ja, sure, whatever! And it's called beer, Franny! Get it right or the awesome me will make you drink a gallon of it by force!" Prussia said, happily dragged the trio down the road, more or less by force.

Leading them cluelessly through a series of small streets and alleys, Prussia eventually seemed confused, and started to slow down, yet still keeping an unfortunate grip on Spain and Frances necks. "Oi, Gilbert... Do you think you could let up on the grip? You're kind of hurting my neck..." Spain mumbled, trying to keep a smile but failing in the strain to get out of Prussia's grip.

"Oh stop whining Toni! Romano told me that nothing could hurt you, 'tomato bastard'! Was he wrong~?" Prussia jeered, coiling his arm around a bit tighter. Spain went quiet immediately, turning slightly pink despite his tan.  
France pulled free of Prussia, looking around. He frowned, scanning the dark alleyway they had managed to find themselves in."Prussia... Are you sure we aren't lost? Do you even know where you're going?" France asked. Prussia hesitated, but quickly covered up any doubt with a confident smirk.  
"Of course I know where the awesome me is going! This is just... An awesome shortcut! Yea!" Grinning, he grabbed France once more by the collar, and drug him through the alley, trying to give off a (failing) vibe of confidence in his navigation. France squeaked in displeasure as his cloak (which he had just had dry-cleaned) was stained with the grit of dirt, gravel and stagnant rainwater.

"Prussia I just had this cleaned! Let go of me!" France squealed, flailing pointlessly.

"Jeez, you're always whining about that dumb cape, Francis. It's not a big deal, ja? I'll fix it later~!" Prussia stopped for a moment, no longer grinning, but scanning the area. His brows were furrowed in frustration as he tried to locate the most plausible path toward the Pub, or the parking lot, whichever would get them out of the eerie and nasty alley.

"Hey, maybe we can ask for directions?" Spain looked around, this time wrenching himself out of Prussia's arm. Looking further down the alley, he spotted what appeared to be a man. He was dressed in a normal white polo and jeans, and Spain couldn't help but notice what appeared to be blood on his polo. Frowning, he tapped Prussia on the shoulder and pointed that way. "... Amigo, do you think we could go see if that man down there is alright? It doesn't look good, I think he has blood on him..."  
Prussia peered down the alley, scrutinizing the man. Nodding, he, France, and Spain made their way in that direction. Upon closer inspection, the man appeared to have been attacked by some animal- his ear was missing a chunk, holes in his clothes spotted with blood around his neck in crescent shapes indicated bites. Prussia cautiously approached him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey, person. You feeling alright? You don't look so awesome..." The man looked up from his hunched over position to reveal more bites. It appeared as if something had tried to rip his throat out- literally- and left scratches and cuts all over his face. His breath sounded labored, and one of his eyes appeared to have been cut in whatever fight he had as well, having turned dark red, glossy and bleeding profusely.  
Prussia stumbled back in shock, covering his mouth and nose.

"Okay, man, first- You need a breath mint or something 'cuz that stench is unawesome! Second, you need to get to a hospital or something! C'mon, I'll help you." Prussia attempted to help the man to stand, but as soon as he put an arm over his shoulder, the man took hold of his wrist. "It's okay, I got it. You just relax and try to walk, okay guy?" he said, taking the grab as an attempt to keep balance. When the man pulled Prussia's wrist down and opened his mouth over it as if to bite, Prussia pulled away. "What the hell man? Im trying to help!" As Prussia attempted to pull away, the man lunged forward again, in another attempt at biting him. Narrowly dodging the attack, Prussia ran back to his startled companions.

"Gilbert I told you we should have taken a car...!" Spain croaked, shaking at the sight of the mutilated man alone.

"And for god's sake..." France hissed,"... Why did you have to ask a bloody man in a dark alleyway for directions! Merde, use your brain Prussia!"

Prussia ran and hid behind the other two, pushing them both forward. "Franny, do something! It tried to bite me!"  
France boldly faced the man, but immediately squealed like a little girl when he saw the man rushing towards them with his arms out and mouth wide open. Pushing Spain forward, he ducked behind Prussia, trembling. "It's disgusting...! I'm not touching that thing...!"  
Spain, still shaking, faced the man and procured his favorite battle axe. Prussia and France eyed the weapon in terror and shock, and in unison shouted "Where the hell do you even keep that thing?!" Spain responded with a trembling and uneasy shrug. "I-I don't know... It's just kind of... There when I need it...!"

When the man was only inches away from Spain's face, Spain shrieked, dropped his axe, and took off running. The man froze, and appeared for a second as if to be watching him run in curiosity, but immediately turned his attention to the remaining two, who upon eye contact made haste in the same direction as Spain.

Nobody thought for two seconds that this was the trigger of the disasters to come.

Nobody considered that this was the only the beginning.

The beginning of the end.


	2. Chapter 2

The trio ran at their top speed, taking random turns, tripping over each other, and fighting to be ahead. By the time they were out of the alley, they had found themselves back at the hotel where they started. Stopping by a car, the three took a moment to catch their breath. Worried glances were exchanged, but the suprisingly unfit nations didn't speak as they gasped for the air they expended on their way back. Prussia seemed most shaken of all, as his eyes were still wide, the image of the bloodied and torn man was burnt into his mind to stay.  
Their break was cut short as a scream tore through the air. They all immediately were upright, standing and poised to run again.

"Who-what the hell was that?" Prussia demanded, still breathing heavily. The scream ripped the air again- shrill and agonizing. Hearing it was enough to give Prussia a headache. He winced. The bloodcurdling yell continued for seconds, that felt like hours. By the time it had ended, he was curled up with his knees to his chest, covering his ears. The pain in his forehead was terrible- throbbing, pulsating pain. His ears were ringing by the time it ended. Standing cautiously, he looked at his companions- Spain was terrified and shaking, his eyes the size of saucers. France just looked disturbed, hiding his face with his hair and shuddering slightly.  
The three were stirred by a cold wind passing. As it picked up, France looked to the sky- storm clouds had gathered, the dark, eerie shade of grey giving the whole situation an ominous atmosphere. Small taps could be heard as minute droplets of rain began to collect on the pavement, turning the pale concrete into a canvas of deep grey spots. They all covered their heads as a sudden downpour started- drenching them in cold rain.

France looked to the hotel, prepared to go in that direction for shelter from the rain- as he looked on, he realized it was becoming trickier to see farther on. A hefty fog was developing from the mixed weather conditions. The sound of thunder grew loud in the distance, and he took it as a sign that staying outdoors for the while wasn't the smartest option.

As he looked for the door to the hotel, he gently nudged each of his companions to get them moving. They all carefully made their way to the giant inviting building before them. France continued to try and peer through the thick fog- he could almost swear he saw some motion coming from its recesses. His heartbeat picked up, and he shook his head to clear his mind. Drops of water were sent flying from his long, now soaked and matted hair. The wind had picked up to a dangerous rate now- the three had to push their weight in the desired direction to defy its strength. Maneuvering around a few more cars, they were only yards away from the building- and France finally realized what he had seen. He counted how many there were- approaching from the bowels of the fog from either side of the building. Bodies. They walked slowly, but he could hear them- the groaning, screeching, and hissing. He could see the blood that washed off of them into the puddles of constantly growing rain. They were all like that man they had seen. They weren't normal. And they were all making their way towards them.

Biting his lip in effort to keep calm, France picked up pace. The other two nations frowned, eyeing eachother in agreed curiosity. They sped up to keep up with the leading country, doing their best to shield their eyes from the downpour. France could hardly hear the corpses anymore- which was good. He had no intention of telling Spain or Prussia. It would just stir things up. He would let them find out on their own.  
Finally reaching the building, the small group was quickly relieved by the shelter the wall alone provided from the powerful wind, shaking from the cold of being soaked. France pushed open a side door, probably for deliveries brought to the hotel to refill vending machines or to restock the kitchen, accepting the small gust of clean air as they entered the warm and inviting room.

The main lobby of the hotel had been cleared, a system of desks arranged into an oval for the initial conference remained. The lights were out, a sign that everyone had long ago left, and that the hotel wasn't in operation for the remainder of the day. In the center of the oval, it seemed a small makeshift tent had been pitched- a large blanket with teddy-bears on it, with the shadows of two figures cast along the side by what appeared to be the light of a flashlight.

"I told you to stop eating dammit! You're going to waste ALL the bloody food, and then what do we eat?!"

"Dude just calm down okay? Theres a ton more in the kitchen, were set for days! And you can have these brick things, they taste gross..."

"Those are scones you git! How many times have I told you that?"

"Prolly like... A million. Oh hey bro could you gimme some of that ranch? I like ranch on my burger."

"You like EVERYTHING on your burger."

"Exactly, so hand it over will ya?"

France's bothered expression grew into a grin as he listened, taking in who all occupied the tent. Glancing at Prussia and Spain (who unanimously nodded their approval of some unspoken plan), he then began to slink up on the tent. He moved quietly, the drenched boots muffling any sound he made. As he loomed over the tent, grinning, neither of the occupants seemed to be aware of the approaching man.

Spain and Prussia fought to contain any incoming laughter. Ripping away the blanket, he tackled the closest occupant- a blonde man with a green uniform and bushy eyebrows- with a sopping we hug. The man immediately was yelling and thrashing frantically, fighting to get away from his captor. The opposite remaining man fell back and laughed, clutching a burger close and trying in weak effort not to overturn his drink.

"Alfred! Alfred they're inside, they made it in! HELP ME YOU GIT, OR I SWEAR-"  
France's captor was cut short by a laugh coming from his companions, laughter that was more than recognizable. The last laugh seeped from France, hugging his catch close. "So, mon chere, why heaven you come looking for me~? You were not worried for my safety, England?"

"No you bloody frog, and all I'd have to say if you were killed is good riddance! Now get off of me!" England growled, wrenching free. He looked down at his soaked uniform, sighing. He looked back up at France with disdain, bearing an infamous scowl. "I was halfway hoping you were dead by now."

Prussia and Spain both were whispering in secret about the earlier encounter. And unknowing to France, they had both seen the mass of corpses coming for them. They knew it had spooked France into moving faster- and they now knew that England and America were aware of it too. It was weird. But what were those things they had seen, anyway? What about them (besides their disgusting appearances made them so terrifying? France must know something. Coming to a quiet conclusion, they both decided on finding their relatives and loved ones. A few lights were on in the stairwell, they both noticed, and the elevator was clearly working. They knew many other countries had stayed, and it was already late- many of them would be asleep.

"Frenchie!" Prussia called. "Were gonna go check upstairs for Romano and mein bruder, kay? We'll be back in a bit. If we don't find 'em I'm probably gonna go get me some awesome beauty sleep. "  
France nodded, giving them a smile. The two jogged off to the stairs, Prussia ranting about how he was sure West was fine but he felt like he needed to check anyway.

"So when the hell did you find out, frog? You three have been gone for hours. We thought you mightve died." England asked. France looked back at them from having his attention at the stairs, frowning. Hours? That's not even possible.

"Just awhile ago. " he said. A small hesitation after the beginning of the sentence made Britain's eyes glint with doubt, but it was quickly dismissed. What does the frog know anyway?

America watched them talk quietly. England kept throwing questions Frances way. Why did he come back? What all did he see? Did he know anything about the corpses that was important or useful? The last question was avoided. France answered with lots of hesitation, keeping his eyes on the wall instead of England's this time. Something wasn't right about the way France seemed so... Distant, about it? Or did he seem like he had a secret?_ Yea_, he thought._ Secrets always make for guilty consciences. Guilt is easily seen... But... What could France be hiding that would make him guilty? That involved the zombies?_ America laughed a bit to himself._ All the video games weren't for nothing! Zombies. Simple to deal with, if you don't let yourself get overwhelmed. I'll probably be the only one who even knows how to deal with these things!_ He thought._ I'll be a real hero when I save all their asses!_

When the questioning was over, France, England, and America decided it best to sleep. The doors were blocked with desks, and the curtains were pulled tight over the windows and blocked with televisions and more desks, and varying objects found throughout the main floor. Bidding eachother a more or less polite farewell and good night, France and the others made their way to their designated room. Each room had been decorated for their stay, and France did love his. It was a small room, his flag was hung on one side, roses were in a neat vase on the desk, the mini-fridge was stocked with wine (which costed extra, but he didn't really care) and other small changes and commodities that made him feel slightly more at home. Although, he thought, this would never make up for the real thing. He sighed. He was sure his home was safe, but he hadn't expected the infection to reach America so quickly. Shutting his door, France peeled off his soaked clothes down to his polo and boxers, lazily plopping onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling in worry, letting his thoughts wander in guilt as to what would happen next, until finally his eyes closed, and he was led into a less than peaceful sleep.

~~Nearby, only minutes earlier~~

"N-no! No stop! You don't have to attack me!"  
Canada wearily backed up from a large group of the disgusting creatures, the undead masses coming from more distances to the sound of a living voice.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! Why doesn't anyone understand? Its not my fault!" He yelled, tears forming in his eyes. They followed him. All the way to the conference from his home.

He smiled, a sad, broken and hopeful smile. "Look! See?" he yelled. He pulled back his collar to reveal a single little mark, a small dot no bigger than a grain of sand. From the dot, his veins were visible, having turned into a blackish shade of red under his pale and sick skin. They faded as they spread, showing that whatever it was that was in his neck had not fully consumed nor impaired him.

"I'm like you! I can't even..." His voice trailed off in thought, still backing away from the hoarde that advanced to him. His smile grew sadly, and laughter gurgled up in his throat. Sick, disturbing laughter, weak with mental wear. "... I can't even eat food anymore. I found all that works anymore is human meat. I know how you all feel, you hear me?! It's horrible! I know! I'm so sorry! You hear me?!" he shrieked, tears rolling down his face. He felt cold needles gently beginning to prick his skin- his paranoia was relieved when he realized it was rain. He looked to the sky, as the clouds gathered. Heavy rain mixed with his tears, and he finally backed into the wall of the hotel he had been staying at for the conference. He looked down sadly at his only companion- A small little polar bear. _What was his name?_ Canada never could remember. _Began with a K, right?_ It didn't matter._ They'll kill him too..._

Canada was pulled out of his thoughts by a horrible sensation in his arm- While he had been daydreaming, the undead had made it upon him. The first had ahold of his arm, just on the side of his wrist. He screamed as the woman bore her teeth deep into his skin- he felt them scrape his bone as she prepared to cut the flesh from him. As she pulled, he let his scream carry once more- another had his shoulder and was doing the same. A ripping noise slowly made it to his ears, the sensation of sinew being detached from his arm was sickening. He felt every strand being broken and ripped away, muscle being torn from its very place. He screamed in agony, tears falling rapidly as more of them came to join the feast. They sound of flesh being ripped from his arm reached its climax, and he himself couldn't deny... It sounded great. He was starving. So hungry. He hadn't let himself eat in days. He knew the consequences.

Canada slowly let his body become numb with the pain. His vision blurred- everything seemed to be in slow motion. He could see all the dead bodies climbing over each other, fighting to get a taste of fresh blood as the crowd seemed to raise itself over him, spilling over with the undead that all wanted the same thing.

_ Oh... You are all such terrible hunters..._ He thought. He laughed._ This meat is hardly any good, but you all indulge as if its a bite of the last meat in the world... _

He watched, all silent but his laughter, as they struggled to feast on his body. They pulled each other away, and seemed to fight each other to a point where he wasn't sustaining as much injury anymore. He saw a white and red creature being feasted on by one of the nearby monsters. No. He thought. You can't have him. He's mine. Reaching out, he managed to tear the animal from the grasp of the monster, who shrieked in rage, but was attacked by a nearby creature of its kin, to battle over who got the meal. Canada held the creature tight in his arms, and was surprised as the dead started leaving. He could hear footsteps in the distance. The slam of a door. He stayed quiet- they react to sound, of course. Let them feast while I die in peace, he thought. I should have never agreed. Never. He quietly pulled chunks of loose meat off of the shivering wounded animal in his arms, being gentle but with bad cause. He snacked on the loose bits, and stopped when there was nothing else. He didn't want to eat this bear. He was the only one who hadn't abandoned him when he, Arthur, and Alfred had found the hoarde. He sat there against the wall, letting the rain wash the blood away. Hopefully he would have time to fix this mess.  
Hopefully.


	3. Chapter 3

**~Day 2~**

France stirred, slowly opening his eyes. The window to his room was leaking in weak light, that filled the room in a ghostly shade. The clouds from the previous storm still hung overhead, but had thinned, letting sunlight through their thick layers. He sat up, running a hand over his face then pushing back his hair. Standing, he walked and peered below to the ground from his second-story view. Zombies patrolled the outer walls lazily, some scratching at the doors. He could make out a trail of blood that lead into the hotel a certain sign of a survivor. He thought about the possibility, but resumed to pick his clothes up off of the floor from their discarded place as of the previous night. They were still damp, but dry enough for wear. He decided to make do with his polo instead of his cloak for now, and pulled on his pants and boots. He ran into the bathroom for a short amount of time to brush his hair back with his fingers and put it into a somewhat misshapen ponytail, with a light blue ribbon. Satisfied, he recovered a cutlass he had brought with him (and felt quite stupid for not considering to use it in the first place yesterday), slinging it to his belt and making his way out the door.

Downstairs, England was replacing an oddly removed barricade with worry. He pulled the desk back into place against the door, and sat down when he was done. Still clad in his green military uniform from the previous day, he quietly pulled a revolver out of one of the bigger pockets on his pants. Pulling some bullets from his chest pocket, he re-loaded the gun with ease.

His mind wandered in worry, for when he woke up that morning and proceeded to America's room to check on him, there was no one to be found. Any other day, he wouldn't have cared in the least. He would have known that America was probably in the kitchen, stuffing his face, or looking for things that the self-proclaimed hero and zombie expert could use as weapons. But what worried him was the blood on the floor and walls in America's room. Items were knocked over, and he found the shards of a beer bottle that had been smashed for use as a weapon. The weaponized part of the bottle was outside his room, along with few blood stains. England checked the kitchen- no Alfred. His thoughts were interrupted as a shuffle from the stairs caught his attention. Revolver ready, he pointed the gun in a heartbeat towards the source of the sound.

France raised his hands in surrender as england pointed a gun his way from across the room. "No need for violence, mon cher, I was coming to check on one of the barricades."

England frowned in confusion, wondering how France knew that a barricade had been displaced. He relaxed his muscles, but left the gun up with a grin. "I'm wondering if i shouldnt shoot anyway just to be rid of you, frog. Although..." he muttered, eyeing the cutlass at France's hip,"... A bit more help might be what I need." He finished, tucking his revolver away.

France grinned as England eyed the sword on his belt, laughing a bit. "Finally noticing my fantastic hips, La'angleterre~?" he joked, coming down the stairs more casually. England only rolled his eyes in response, but made no retort. "So may I ask what has Britain so jumpy today?" he said, letting his expression fall serious again as he took seat next to England.

"... America's gone missing, and I found blood stains in his room. I can't find him. I checked the restrooms, and the rooms of the other bloody nations that left before we had to come back... and the kitchen. I was really hoping he was in the kitchen. But he's not there." England mumbled, letting his gaze fall to the floor. France looked on with slight pity, but now was worried.

"Did it look as if... someone else was in his room?" He asked cautiously, being quiet for the sake of England's nerves.

"Well... Yes. How did you know?" England's eyes grew wide with realization, and he leaned away from France dramatically. "Did you rape him you damn frog?! Where the hell is he?!"

France burst into laughter. "Britain, I have nothing against having some _fun_ on occasion, even if the... receiving end isn't quite in agreement, but I am not quite up to using violence, nor rape. Thats something I wouldn't do." He said, his voice mixed with surprise and laughter. England scowled doubtfully, muttering something about that being rape anyway, but accepting the answer.

"But... I ask because, it is evident now... Someone or something got in last night. There is a blood trail leading to this door." He said, returning to a serious attitude. England looked up in surprise, understanding France's hint.

"Well... it wasn't one of those things, whoever it was locked the door when they got in. But they didn't put the barricade back." He added.

France nodded, thinking carefully. Whoever it was wasnt in great condition, either, judging by the blood... and the fact that they made it through those monsters meant they were quiet. Really quiet.

England sat up straight at random, with wide eyes. "Did you hear that?" he hissed, snapping his head towards france and then back towards the stairs.

"Hear what, exactly...?" France asked, squinting curiously. He sat quietly as he strained to hear whatever England had heard.

"Twit, that's someone yelling! It's America! Come on!" England shot to his feet, snagging France by the hand and darting in the supposed direction of the stairs.

They ran up the stairwell, and stopped. France leaned against the wall, as England focused on the sound. Suddenly, England was off again, dragging the other behind, and this time France heard it. Muffled yells. On the third floor, the sound became more pronounced- it seemed to be coming from a door with bloodied handprints and smears on its white paint and handle. England looked at France with worry, and opened the door.

Walking in, the room was dark he could make out a Canadian flag hanging on one wall. The mini-fridge was open, and its contents could be seen in the pale refrigerator light a few bottles of maple syrup, soda, and spring water. Although, one of the syrup bottles was out of place- instead of being on the rack inside the door, it was nestled among the water bottles in the main part of the fridge. England reached in and pulled the bottle out for examination. The bottle was awkwardly warm despite having been in a fridge. He held it closer, so that he could see its contents better in the dark room. He nearly dropped the bottle when he realized that it held blood, near perfectly mixed with some of the former syrup. A sticker on the front read _For Travel_,_ 50/50_ mix _with remaining antidote _in sloppy handwriting, and England couldnt deny that he suddenly felt sick at his stomach. He placed the bottle on the fridge, motioning for France to take a look.

England finally heard the muffled cry again, in the corner of the room at the foot of the bed. Handcuffs were visible from either of the bedposts, and he could make out a mangled pair of hands. He was shocked at what he saw.

America looked up at England with pleading eyes, his glasses shattered and his speech impaired by a gag. Cuts ran along his neck, bleeding slightly, but the most damage was on his torso. His shirt had been removed, and deep gashes and bite marks lined his sides. One large chunk of flesh seemed absent from his abdomen, and was bleeding large rivers, staining the carpet in a flower of red. He could see bits of the disgusting syrup and blood concoction from earlier running along the bites.

England quickly began trying to unlock the handcuffs, when he felt a cold hand grip his neck.

"... I had been hoping you wouldn't find him..." Canada whispered in his ear, smiling. America's eyes widened, and he struggled in vain to free himself. England looked back in shock, limited in motion by his captor's hold, only to see France sprawled on the floor unconscious.

"... But maybe I'll have to take care of you sooner than expected... I had hoped I wouldn't have to until America was just bones and there wasn't anything left. But... I can't let you go... Not since you both left me behind... as the distraction... as bait..."

Canada gently placed a knife at England's throat, laughing.

"Any apologies?"

* * *

**(A/N) And bam. Cliffhanger. ;D**

**I know its a load shorter than the last chapter- im going to try to average 2,000 words per chapter at the least- but New Years festivities prevent me from writing too long. Happy New Years!**

**-Loru**


	4. Chapter 4

England gagged a bit as Canada's knife dug into his throat, leaving a trickling trail of blood. "C-Canada? Thank god you're alive! I had thought for sure you were done for, you have no idea how worried I was, I-" England was cut short as Canada wedged the blade a small bit deeper, hissing.

"Save me The false sympathy, Arthur. You hardly looked back you two started running. Now look at what you've done..." He growled, wrenching England's head to look at America by his hair. "... As always, I'm the easy one to leave behind, I'm invisible, or disposable. Forgettable. So worthless. Flesh eating monsters start appearing- lets run for our lives! Band together and survive, eh? But let's just _ditch _the younger brother!" He seethed, tightening his grip on England's hair until strands started being pulled out. England whimpered, bit didn't move for his sake.

"It's not like that at all! There was nothing we could do! If we went back, all _three _of us would have died! I'm sorry! But we can't just-"

"SHUT UP. I don't want to hear it! You've _all _traded me out at some point! So you assumed me dead, eh? Then why did nobody come to check out of hope, at the very least? Why didn't anyone even try to go back for what would be left of the body?"

By now, France was waking up quietly behind them, silently assessing the situation. Canada walked around England, keeping the knife pressed to his throat still. It was then that England could see the extended damage done to the smaller nation. He was pale, and deep bite marks covered the majority of his skin. They had clearly stopped bleeding, but the skin around the wounds was risen and dead from being soaked for an extensive amount of time. Blackened veins stretched in a web over one side of his neck, and his hands were drenched in blood- a visible chunk of flesh was missing from his wrist, and it was evident that he had gotten his hands into something disturbingly messy. A pang of guilt washed over England- what was done was probably irreversible. He opened his mouth to explain, but Canada just laughed quietly. He smiled sadly at England.

"I know... You forgot. Forgot that you left me behind." he whispered. "And... I'm done being forgotten. So maybe now... At least people will see me. They will remember me." he muttered, letting the sentence hang in the air. A grin snuck its way onto his face, and his eyes seemed to glow in the dark room as he stared England in the eyes. "...They will remember me for killing you."

Canada replaced the knife with his own hand, clutching England's throat. He reared back slightly, and thrust the knife into England's chest. He giggled maniacally, twisting the knife and listening to it make a brief tearing sound. England screamed, and America whimpered in unheard protest.

"Does it _hurt,_ England?! Because I can promise..." He growled, laughing and wrenching the knife into England's chest further "... It hurts _nothing _compared to the absolute _hell _of having living beings wrench the flesh from your body and make you _watch!_"

Canada removed the knife from England's chest, letting the older nation fall onto him. He stood there, laughing to the sound of England's choked breath, the gurgling sound of blood making the damage evident. Canada hugged England close, rocking slightly, giggling.

"I win. I win. I win. You see me now? You can see me now." he stuttered, giggling hysterically. "I'll let America eat your corpse if he dies with the virus. Haha! How's that for family?! You still get to ensure the glut doesn't starve~!" Canada smiled down at his brother, who was returning the glance with an angry and unrelenting glare. Canada didn't notice France stand and draw his sword while his attention was turned. "Oh don't look at me like that Al. I'm sure you're already hungry. You're always hungry! Maybe you'd like to try-"

"Nobody. Will be eating Arthur." France hissed, gently setting the end of his cutlass at Canada's throat. Canada slowly looked up, smiling.

"Looks like papa woke from his nap, eh? Don't tell me the floor was so comfortable that you simply had to give me time to rid myself of this old thing~?" he whispered, smiling and releasing England, who fell to the floor in a shuddering heap. France stared in horror, but did his best to turn his focus to Canada.

"Well I would have been along sooner if I wasn't helped by some syrup bottle-wielding lunatic. Now I promise not to hurt you if you let your brother go, and let me take him and Arthur to treat them back to health." he demanded, pressing the blade to Canada's throat menacingly.

Canada raised his chin in caution to the sword, let his grin remain unrelenting. "I thought you and I had a deal?" He cooed.

"You broke your end of that bargain."

"Well... Not quite."

"You know what I'm talking about! No damn loopholes! If you intended to keep your part then you probably shouldn't have come to the meeting in the first place! Now let me take those two away from here or I'll slit your throat right here!" France yelled, shakily pressing the sword into Canada's throat. His eyes grew slightly in fear- he didn't want to kill anyone. Especially not someone he would have otherwise protected with his life.

Canada laughed, nodding slightly. "Fine. Take your crippled friends. I'll get all of them soon enough. I really didn't want to hurt you papa. But... I'm not going to sit idly and starve." he sneered, dropping his pocket knife in defeat. He turned and unlocked America's cuffs, and America in turn did all in his effort to scamper to the farthest corner from him. He weakly scurried on his hands and knees below Canada and across the room, where he slowed until he finally slumped into the ground with fatigue. The collective chunks of flesh that were missing from his abdomen seemed to be dropping blood in mass quantities, leaving a think trail. Canada grinned in pleasure, picking his teeth.

France collected a gagging England, pulling him over his shoulder and stopped to look at Canada warningly, although he only appeared smug with the reaction. He hefted America's unconscious body over the other shoulder, now slow under weight, and left, passing a dangerous glance at Canada one last time.

When France was gone, Canada grinned- pulling America's pistol and England's revolver from either coat pocket.

"Catch me now unarmed, papa... We can see who's stronger." He emptied both guns and threw them on his bed, laughing.

"... I just guess it will be cat-and-mouse from here on out. Haha. Well. Let the games begin~."

* * *

**(A/N) yay! Another chapter. What deal did France and Canada make?! What are they hiding?! Why is Canada already nearly dead and zombified?! What on earth was he talking about that he said he should have never agreed to in the second chapter?! Does America die- or England?!**

**Lol not telling! But if you stick around you'll find out~! **

**-Lorulynn**


	5. Chapter 5

_Canada watched his younger self run hopelessly in attempt to keep up with the soccer ball he and France were playing with. The younger boy stumbled over his own small feet, skidding across the grass. He laughed at the mistake, quickly getting up. As he looked back to his papa, what he saw was horrible- his beloved papa covered in blood. It ran in trails down from his mouth and covered his hands. The older man stared at his hands in horror, gaping. He looked back to Canada with spite. "This... This is your fault. You said you'd take care of it! I agreed not to tell anyone! Even if someone was hurt in the process, you said you'd fix this!" He screamed. Francis sank to his knees, crying silently. Canada looked down at his own hands in guilt. Small, young hands. _

_ 'I did this...?' He thought. He looked back up again- but he was no longer in the sweet green field. He was in a bathroom. Looking in the mirror, the man who looked back wasn't him- it was France. As the depressed, defeated and bloody figure that returned his gaze turned away, Canada did as well- HE was France. Looking into the room, he could see two mutilated bodies sprawled out on the bed- the beige sheets were dyed red in soaking blossoms, and he could hardly make out who the remains Belonged to. He/France knelt next to the nearest corpse- he could feel warm tears running down his cheeks. _

_ "I'm sorry. I... I wasn't there... I really tried, Arthur... I really tried..." He heard France say- his voice was hoarse, as if he had been crying for days. Canada's mind reeled in shock as he took in the corpse that was revealed to be England- the remains were practically stripped of skin, exposing lots of the muscle underneath. His face was half intact, one side missing an eye and lots of skin, the other looking like the simple result of death on anyone. The eyes were long sunken in, and deep crevices were exposing his cheek bones. He looked down to the item in his hand- a large bottle of wine. Now looking around the room, he could see various liquor bottles of several kinds smashed and strewn throughout. He tried to drink from the bottle in hand, but upon realizing it was empty he merely chocked out a cry, smashing its remains loudly. He sat there and cried, stroking the skinless, deteriorated hand of his nemesis. He was absolutely covered in blood, as he rocked back and forth, finally reaching over and scooping up England's body and holding him close. He sat. Cried. Muttering small phrases and confessions of love in French, when he heard a small shuffle at the door. _

_ He stood boldly, laying England's body back down and gripping the remains of the wine bottle with white knuckles. He messily wiped his face with his sleeve, stumbling. He was drunk. But as far as this man knew... There was no point in being sober. Why NOT be drunk? There wasn't anything to stop him. There wasn't anyone he needed to talk to anymore. He had spent days talking to the corpses he had kept. Both with gaping holes in their heads. He just didn't care anymore. He said so many things. So many things he would have never said when they were alive. If only Arthur knew... _

_ He faced the sound he heard. Vaguely, Canada could make out a person- but Frances drunk and broken vision was terrible. His limbs felt like lead, as if he hasn't slept in weeks. But he stood. Some other force gave him the strength to stand up as if he had been preparing for this moment his whole life. He focused. But to no avail, as if something didnt want him to see the man in the doorway._

_ "How long have you been stroking a dead body, Francis? He had no wishes that he asked you to grant before he died?" The man asked. His voice was raspy, and dry. _

_ "...you son of a bitch... You let him just... Just die..." France croaked, more tears washing over him. His voice was cracking, and he gripped the remains of the wine bottle until he could feel the shards breaking into his skin. _

_ "He told me he never loved you, you know." the man said. Something about his voice seemed mocking despite its harshness. France groaned in agony, hysterically crying. "And he screamed like hell when I skinned him alive. And I did such a good job too..." The man hissed. France just bawled, falling onto the wall in hysterics. "He told me he was disappointed he wouldn't get to see you die."_

_ "L-LIAR! LIAR! YOU'RE LYING! YOU LITTLE BITCH, YOU SLAUGHTERED YOU OWN FUCKING FAMILY! WHY SHOULD I BELIEVE YOU!" He screamed, standing himself in a pose that made him ready to charge. _

_ "Because. He NEVER loved you. He saw right through you. He never cared. Nobody ever cared" the man muttered. He could see- the man was thin. Dangerously thin. His clothes were huge on him, and he was drenched in blood. He carried in his hand something that looked like... _

_ Canada wanted to look away so much. The man lifted the item in his hand into France's view. This man... Why would anyone do such a thing?_

_ He held the skin missing from the other half of England's face. France immediately wretched- he was so weak to begin with, he could hardly handle much more. Most of the mess was blood- which made sense, France thought, as he hasn't eaten in days. Tightening his grip on the glass shard in his hand, he charged the man before him. When he was within the perfect distance to stab him, he heard a loud, ear splitting BANG! _

_ France froze. He was so numb to begin with, but a fresh pain surged through his chest. He felt his lungs begin to fill with blood. _

_ The man had shot him. _

_ France staggered back, clutching his chest and coughing up his own blood. The man walked up to him, and gave him a __hug.__ This man just shot him, and now he gave France a hug! _

_ He whispered quietly in his ear. The man was using a gentle, soothing voice... Canada noted that this man was absolutely insane, nobody just hugs the man they've probably killed..._

_ "... He loved you more than anything in the world. And he begged me to tell you he did." _

_ canada could feel himself falling numb, slowly blacking out. France smiled weakly, coughing up his fluids but still doing everything he could to return the hug. _

_ "I'm sorry I had to do this..." The man whispered as France went limp. His eyes dulled, and his breath ceased. The man gently laid him next to England and proceeded to the bathroom. Canada realized that he was now in the place of the man instead of France. The man felt no regret. No guilt. No remorse. But he felt... Satisfied. _

_ The man turned on the sink, setting down the disturbing flesh of England's face and washed his hands of the immense amount of blood that caked them. And he looked up into the mirror. _

_ 'Finally!' canada thought 'I get to see the psycho who killed my papa and England! I hope he rots in-" his words were cut off as he stared into the soulless eyes of the man in the mirror. _

_ It was him. _

_ As if realizing he was caught, the him in the mirror immediately burst into laughter. blood started pouring from his eyes, mouth, and fingertips. He just kept laughing. And laughing. He kneeled over, laughing still and spilling blood everywhere, until the room was filling with it. Canada looked around, startled- the door was still open. He ran to it, but the other him, the one hysterical in laughter and pouring blood, slammed it. he watched in horror, and looked back at the mirror- his own reflection was gone! The man in the room was his own reflection! _

_ As the room filled with blood, he began to panic. The reflection of him ran to the mirror, and smashed it- and picked up one of the shards. His laughter continued in disturbing pleasure, as he resumed to cut his own neck with the shard. Canada wailed as the cut grew upon his own neck as well, growing until he felt as if his head was going to come right-_

Canada screamed in terror, shooting up from his sleep in the corner of his room. His hands flew to his neck- still intact. He got up and ran to the mirror, prayin to god his reflection was in its place. It was. But the network of veins that were blackened on the side of his neck had spread. A small jagged line reached up his jaw and to his temple. He relaxed.

"It's just the virus... Just... Just..." he couldn't find anything to reassure himself about the dumb virus. He looked in the mirror one more time. His reflection and himself were the same person. Maybe that was supposed to be a message.

"What virus?" A thickly accented voice behind him inquired.

A strong hand held his shoulder down, keeping him from running. "We've been looking for you for two days, Mattie. Lucky you Francis has his hands full, so he put me in charge of getting you under control and talking you out of your sadistic streak!" Prussia jeered.

Canada hissed lightly, but didnt move. He then turned his gaze back to the mirror- and now he understood perfectly. He and his reflection were exactly the same person. He lapped the dry blood off of his fingers, giggling. Prussia Frowned.

"What's so funny?"

"The person in the mirror. He's just like me." he muttered, bursting into laughter at his own vague joke.

Prussia frowned in confusion.

How was he supposed to reason with this?

* * *

**(A/N)**

**holy crap I'm gonna have nightmares of this nightmare tonight. **

**My mind is so messed up. ;n; **

**god help me...**

**~Lorulynn**


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